


Of Long Suffering Princes and Their Idiot Sorcerors

by YourAverageBookworm



Series: Snapshots from a Brighter Future (aka a willful ignorance of canon) [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon? What Canon?, Court Sorcerer Merlin, Established Relationship, M/M, Sickfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3068579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourAverageBookworm/pseuds/YourAverageBookworm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Merlin is a bit of an idiot and catches a cold, and Arthur tries to figure out how to cure him of both those ailments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Long Suffering Princes and Their Idiot Sorcerors

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've been able to write something for fun/ not school and aghh I'm pretty out of practice. This is basically a bunch of tropes mixed in with some self-indulgent fluff, and that's pretty much it. There's not much redeeming value to it besides that, but I've been wanting to write something sweet and this was my attempt. So um, yeah :)  
> Thank you for reading and I hope it's sweet for one of you too :) Happy (Early) New Years!

It starts in a surprisingly ordinary way. For once, there are no magical creatures terrorizing the lower towns, no angry sorcerer hell bent on revenge (because Arthur may have repealed the ban on magic, but that still hasn’t stopped the occasional half-crazed sorcerer from attacking every now and then).

The winter has been no colder or warmer than winters usually are. A thick blanket of snow has covered the kingdom, and the poorer are struggling, but the rations that the knights distributed a few weeks earlier have helped. There’s nothing more that can be done besides to hunker down and wait the cold out. Usually it’s Arthur’s least favorite time of the year. There’s so much to do, and he’s trapped inside, able to make lists and worry about the people of Camelot but not actually able to _do_ anything. This year though, it’s as if there isn’t much to be done. Merlin becoming Court Sorcerer has effectively cut down the kingdom’s workload. And Merlin’s had less chores, thanks to a young boy named Kay becoming Arthur’s new manservant. Kay can be a little snooty at times, but he’s efficient and weirdly fond of cooking, and that in the end was what convinced Arthur to hire him.

Ironically, it’s Merlin who makes them leave the warmth first.

“I need to renew the magical defenses around the kingdom,” he says one night while tidying Arthur’s room. Arthur’s wrapped in a blanket by the fire, waiting for Merlin to join him. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Does it have to be tomorrow? Can’t it wait until when we’re not likely to freeze something important off?” Arthur replies, too comfortable and warm to want to think about leaving the castle. Merlin’s been a bad influence on him—he’s grown soft.

“There’s a blizzard coming in next week, and I want to get it done before that hits.”

“How do you know there’ll be a blizz—” Merlin cuts him off with a look. Right. Magic. Arthur still has problems trying to reconcile his clumsy, goofy former-servant with the sorcerer who level battlefields. But he’s grown used to it. With Merlin, it almost makes sense that the two can be the same person.

“Fine. If we have to go tomorrow then tomorrow it is.” Arthur sighs, thinking wistfully of warm ale and fireplaces and heavy quilts. “Make sure you pack the extra thick blankets though.”

Merlin pauses in his work. “You don’t have to come with me, Arthur.”

The hesitation isn’t lost on Arthur. “Don’t be stupid. I shudder to think how you’d survive without me.”

“Hmm, I don’t know”, Merlin says. “I do have a little something…” He wiggles his fingers as if casting a spell.

“Even sorcerers can be idiots. You should know, you’re a prime example of that. Now stop tidying up and get over here so we can go to sleep. Cleaning is Kay’s job now. We might as well savor what little warmth we can.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning. When he climbs into bed with Arthur though, the chores have all been completed anyway despite the fact that Merlin didn’t have nearly enough time to finish. Arthur frowns. Even small acts of magic can take their toll.

 

They set out at dawn the next morning. Their pathway through the forest to the outskirts of the kingdom is quietly peaceful. For a while it’s just fogged breath and crisp air and a soft kind of silence. It’s as if nothing living wants to be out in the cold. Everything is sleeping or hiding—no birds tweeting, no rustles in the underbrush. Arthur can feel his fingers beginning to numb, but he doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would. He can feel Merlin’s presence off to his side, and it calms him further.

About halfway through the day, Merlin starts to cough and sniffle. At first, Arthur teases him about being weak enough to catch a cold.

“It’s not my fault. It’s the middle of winter,” Merlin complains. “And anyway, isn’t there some proverb about colds avoiding idiots? It’s no wonder you haven’t caught one yet.”

“There’s no excuse for a weak constitution, Merlin. Just because some of us happen to be a little stronger and therefore less susceptible to illness…”

“Oh, sod off.”

Merlin sounds miserable enough that Arthur just sighs and drapes one of the blankets from their pack around him.

They get to the border by nightfall, and Arthur sets up camp while Merlin does whatever it is he needs to do. Arthur isn’t particular on the details. All he knows is that Merlin chants for several minutes and suddenly anyone wishing to do Camelot harm has a hard time crossing the border.

He’s not sure how long he sits there, turning the logs in the fire and listening to the quiet crackling. Eventually there’s a rustling of leaves and Merlin stumbles into the clearing.

“All done,” he says, looking abnormally pale. Arthur herds him closer to the fire and shoves a bowl of stew in his hands. They sit, eating for a moment in silence, before Merlin sighs and leans his head against Arthur’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

And that’s a little worrying. He’d usually be harping on Arthur for manhandling him or some other similar nonsense. “Are you alright?”

“Mmm.” Merlin’s eyes stay closed. “I’ll be perfectly fine by morning. I’m just a little tired.”

“I _have_ been telling you to eat more.”

He opens his eyes to give Arthur a half-hearted glare. “Calling me a stick and shoving food on my plate _from your own_ doesn’t count as telling me to eat more.”

“Close enough.”

He gets a snort in response. “Ass.”

“Idiot.”

 

The next morning, Merlin practically bounds into their tent. “Rise and shine!”

Arthur, still muddled, vaguely realizes that the warm spot Merlin had occupied under his arm is disappointingly cold. “What—how long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.” He grins down at him. “We should leave as soon as possible. It’s a little warmer today.”

Arthur yawns and reaches for his coat. “Warmer? I thought you said there was a blizzard coming in soon. You didn’t do anything to the weather, did you?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Arthur snorts. “Someone’s feeling better, I take it.”

“I told you I was just tired.” But as soon as Merlin finishes speaking, he sneezes. “Alright, I may still have a cold. Only a slight one though.”

“Yes well, you’re obviously not the most reliable person in the world.”

 

They’re almost back to Camelot when they hear rustling and hushed voices coming from a distance away. That’s almost never a good thing, even ignoring the fact that it’s the middle of winter. Cautious, Arthur puts a finger to his lips and motions for Merlin to follow him. They dismount from their horses and follow the sounds of conversation to a clearing below where a group of masked men are sharpening their swords and arguing. Their caravans are littered with what seem to be an assortment of pots and pans, clothing, and weapons of widely varying quality and make. Stolen goods.

“We really need to do something about our bandit problem,” Merlin says, obviously coming to the same realization as Arthur. “We may have great border security, but it doesn’t do any good if you can’t travel anywhere in the kingdom without getting attacked left and right.”

Arthur snorts. “I’ll add it to the list, right behind ‘Improving dungeon security’.” He takes stock of the bandits, noting their lack of crossbows and small numbers. “Let me handle this one. You are not to move, understood? I can take care of myself.”

Merlin eyes the bandits below cautiously, but doesn’t say anything. Arthur hopes that means yes because there’s no time to press further. He takes a deep breath and slides down into the clearing, taking care to land away from most of the bandits. The rustle of leaves alerts them though, and they’re already beginning to move by the time he can stand.

A sharp thrust takes care of the first one, who’s still in the process of drawing his sword. He falls with an almost comically surprised look on his face. Arthur makes quick work of the next man that charges him as well, leaning down to flip him over and drive his sword upwards. But when he turns around to take on the next, an empty clearing greets him. Two bandits have been crushed by a convenient tree branch, another seemingly run through by his neighbor’s sword. The last has turned heel and fled.

Arthur glares up at Merlin’s hiding spot above. “You didn’t.”

Merlin grins down. “I followed your orders— I didn’t move.”

But once Arthur makes his way back up the hill and gets a closer look at Merlin, he realizes he’s even paler than he’d been the day before. And it doesn’t escape his notice when Merlin coughs and stumbles slightly as he mounts his horse. A sharp pang of worry stabs Arthur’s gut. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything.

By the time they arrive back at the castle, it’s nighttime and Merlin’s nearly sliding off his saddle. Cabbage head. Arthur sighs, a little louder than necessary. He dismounts from his own horse and is by Merlin’s side in a few strides. As soon as Merlin’s safely off, he picks him up in his arms and sets off towards his rooms where there is no doubt a roaring fire and more importantly, a warm bed.

“You really are the most idiotic person I’ve ever met.” His tone is supposed to come off as exasperated, but there’s more concern in there than he means to show.

“You love me for it though,” Merlin mumbles against his chest, eyelids drooping shut.

As soon as Merlin has fallen into a deep enough sleep, the weather suddenly worsens. The sky turns a sickly shade of gray and snow begins to fall. Arthur just rolls his eyes at Merlin’s stupidity and curses under his breath. He shouldn’t even be surprised by now. Luckily, his room is warmly lit by a fire crackling in the hearth. He’ll have to thank Kay for that at some point. For now though, he tucks Merlin in, pulls off his boots, and settles in beside him, listening to his even breathing and comforting himself with that.

It turns out Merlin sleeps for two days.

Arthur is heavily unamused, and he makes sure to tell Merlin this as often as he can.

“You’re an idiot.” He says, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair. It’s much less fun with Merlin unconscious. He’ll have to complain to him about that too once he wakes up. The rest of his time with Merlin is spent dribbling chicken soup into his mouth (by order of Gaius), placing warm towels on his head (by order of Gwen), and reading to him (only because Arthur’s bored. Really.). So when Merlin does wake up, it’s to a cross king sitting by his bedside.

He groans. “Eurgh. How long have I been out?”

“Long enough for the world to have ended several times.”

“That doesn’t actually say a whole lot.” He stretches.

“Two days.”

At least that gets a wince and apologetic smile from Merlin. “Oops.”

“’Oops’? ‘Oops’, Merlin, is what you say when you accidentally drop a goblet. It’s not what you say when you sleep for two days straight and worry everyone because your brain has decided to take a leave of absence.”

“Sorry, Arthur. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“With your level of stupidity, there may not _be_ a next time.”

“Why are you being such a prat about this?” Merlin asks, frustration finally breaking through. “This is cross even for you. It was just a cold.”

But Arthur has had it. “It’s only a cold _this_ time, Merlin. What’s going to happen next time we need to strengthen our borders? Are you going to do all of it and then magically spoon feed me as well? Do you think I haven’t noticed all of the little, unnecessary things you use your magic on? Look around.”

Merlin winces for a second as he seemed to, for the first time, take stock of Arthur’s room—the floors freshly scrubbed, clothes folded up neatly, and fire roaring brightly at the hearth. But he recovers quickly. “Not all of this was my doing. Kay is a good manservant.”

“But not all of this was Kay’s doing either.”

“What do you want me to say?” He slumps against the pillows. “I know how tired you’ve been, and if I can ease the burden in any way I’d do it a thousand times.”

Which is exactly what Arthur doesn’t want to hear. “It doesn’t ease anything if you wear yourself thin, you idiot. You could be seriously hurt. How will I… how will Camelot fare without its sorcerer? If I have a heart attack from worrying about you, it really doesn’t matter what you do.”

The unspoken _I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you_ hangs in the air, unsaid, and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, unsure of where to go from here. He’s never been very good with the smaller soft moments. He can give battle speeches to hundreds of men and fiercely defend his beliefs in a court of men his elders, but this is nothing like that. This is intimate and vulnerable in a way that Arthur has a hard time accepting, even with Merlin.

But Merlin has always been able to read between his lines.

When Arthur opens his eyes, Merlin’s giving him an assessing gaze, but something in it is softer somehow than it was before.

“I’ll try to cut back on the smaller magic, but I can’t promise you anything. I don’t like seeing you in pain, Arthur, and I finally have the ability to fix that. How can I not?” His voice wavers slightly on the question.

Arthur sighs. He’s watched Gwen and Lancelot together countless times talking, smiling, laughing. They just… fit together, like they were always meant to be. And it’s obvious that they’re madly in love with each other. Anyone can tell just by watching them together— their looks, their small touches. In a lot of ways, Arthur envies them. He wishes he could just fall together that easily with Merlin, that being in love with him didn’t sometimes feel like fighting a losing battle with stakes neither of them want to sacrifice.

But they’ll figure it out. They always do.

“Just be more careful. Cut down on the things you don’t have to do—I mean controlling the weather? _Really?_ — and pay attention to your health. It’s much more important to me that you’re at my side than that I’m comfortable in small ways.”

Feeling finished with his tirade, he huffs, trying to keep up his appearance of irritation but aware that he’s failing miserably. Merlin just looks up at him, a small, fond smile on his face. Then his eyes flicker over to the tableside and his brow furrows for a second.

“Is that… Is that a book of fairy tales? Were you reading to me?” Arthur steadfastly doesn’t look, but he’s almost certain Merlin’s grinning at him stupidly.

“I wasn’t— I was bored! I… Oh for heavens sake. Move aside, I’m lying next to you.”

They end up close together, Merlin’s head on Arthur’s chest, rising and falling to his breaths. It’s a deep, soft sort of calm, and it’s more than enough.

Merlin curls further into him and says, “You know some people just say ‘I love you’.”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur replies, no real bite to it. A few hesitant seconds pass. Finally, he mumbles, “I do, though.”

He can feel Merlin smile against his chest.

“I know. I love you too, you prat.”


End file.
